


honesty makes it real

by unusual_cliche



Series: congruence [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Day 2, F/F, First (Real) Kiss, First Kiss, Fluff, Honesty, Killing Eve (TV 2018) Season/Series 03, Killing Eve Week 2021, Late Night Conversations, Post-Season/Series 03, have some comfort in these trying times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 00:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30080736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unusual_cliche/pseuds/unusual_cliche
Summary: “Eve?” Villanelle asks, blown eyes staring eagerly at Eve’s face, “will you kiss me for real, this time?”
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: congruence [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2221800
Comments: 18
Kudos: 121
Collections: Killing Eve Week 2021





	honesty makes it real

**Author's Note:**

> I was meaning to post this later, but the confirmation of season four being the last season prompted me to speed it up because I think we all need a little comfort right now. I know I do... 
> 
> But first I need to thank mowscannon for taking the time to answer my shout into the void that is KE tumblr and then being the most thoughtful beta, thank you so much 🥰.
> 
> follow me on twitter @ClicheUnusual and on tumblr at unusualcliches...

It should have been easy, walking away from the person who got her into this mess to begin with. Eve is tired, her legs hurt from running too fast.  _ What was she running from anyway? _ She recalls Carolyn’s comment on ‘going cold turkey’ and thinks maybe she gets it a bit better now, as she pries her wet boots off her cold feet, having already gotten rid of her coat a minute earlier.

“Wow, I didn’t think your apartment could get any sadder,” Villanelle quips upon closing the door behind her. “What’s that smell?”

“Do you think it’s safe to stay here for the night?” Eve asks, already fed up with the other woman’s habit of making light of everything. Somewhere between leaving the scenic London bridge and arriving at New Malden the softness that had taken over Eve’s chest gave way to a familiar restlessness that threatened to consume her whole.

Villanelle snorts as she takes off her yellow cape.

“Eve, you just invited a Russian assassin into your home, what do you think?” The  _ ex _ -assassin responds, voice filled with a bitter sort of humor.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to do that anymore?” Eve snaps back, stepping into the kitchenette.  _ Something did smell pretty awful in there _ .

“Touché.” She says, following Eve’s movements, “I might always be a murderer though.”

“Hmm,” Eve agrees, simply. “Would you like some water?” she continues, rummaging the fridge in search of the spoiled food, “I’d offer you tea but I don’t think there’s anything salvageable in here.” 

Villanelle doesn’t answer, prompting Eve to look up from the last shelf, a spoiled bottle of milk in one hand and a container filled with something dangerously green in the other. She starts for a moment at the brightness coming from the younger woman’s eyes.

_ Beep beep, beep beep _

Oh, right. The fridge’s been open for too long.

“I’m serious,” she tells Villanelle after shutting the plastic door and turning to face her.

“Umm…” she starts, looking lost, “I don’t really mind, Eve, water is fine.” 

“I meant about staying here tonight,” she clarifies, exasperated, but throws the garbage in the bin - container and all - and turns to fetch her some water.

“Oh… I don’t know. I-I mean,” she clears her throat, “I’m pretty sure I’m dead meat after today, but then with Carolyn going full Annie Oakley on that guy’s head, I don’t really know how far up their list I actually am...?”

“I still can’t believe Carolyn shot that bastard.” She can’t stop herself from raising her voice at the memory. “He could have told us everything we needed to-”

“Eve.” Villanelle tells her firmly, grabbing her shoulders to stop her from spilling the water. “Look, it’s not like I’m not curious about them. Hell, I’m the one with my neck on the line here, but this is going nowhere. Just…” She seems a little desperate as she looks around, grasping at straws, “just breathe, okay?”

And surprisingly, Eve obeys, taking a deep breath and feeling the way her heart’s gradually returning to normal.

“I’m sorry,” she offers the girl, handing her the glass of water. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want to sit down?” Eve motions vaguely around the confined space.

Villanelle takes a quick look around the apartment and comments, smug, “Why, Eve, are you inviting me into your bed already?”

_ She’s such a child. _

Eve can’t help but let a tiny smile form on her lips at the thought. Again, she ponders it should be easier to let this prick go. But after today, she-

_ Wait a minute. _

“What happened today?” she asks pointedly. 

“Oh no! Don’t tell me you’re suffering from early dementia, you haven’t even kissed me properl-”

“Oh, cut the crap, Villanelle. Can you be serious for five minutes?” she snaps again, thankful the worry she feels allows her to ignore the shiver that runs through her body at the suggestion. “You mentioned something happened today to make you an official target to the twelve. What was it?” she urges.

For a long moment, Villanelle just sips her water. Then she whistles, leaving the empty glass in the sink.

“Okay,” she begins, after what seemed like hours, “I’ll tell you everything, but can I accept your offer to sit first?”

They both sit awkwardly at the left side of the bed, its placement and size making it impossible for them to keep their distance. That and all the trash that’s currently sharing the space probably isn’t helping. Something seems to catch Villanelle’s eye, because she’s extending her right arm in order to reach it.

“Oooooh, Eve,” she teases, holding the last ‘gift’ she left her, “I can’t believe you did this to  _ princess _ , whatever did she do to you?”

Eve just glares at her pout, so Villanelle concedes, taking a deep breath.

“So, remember how they crashed our party?” she starts, looking just as vulnerable as she had when Eve first met her at said party. “It was Rhian, Hélène’s new protegé.”

“Hélène? How do I know that name…?”

“Oh, I mentioned it back at Carolyn’s place, remember? When you were busy trying to get information from the twelve…” she said, bitter.

_ God, that woman knew how to get on her nerves. _

“Seriously V? You’re jealous of my interest in the organization that  _ you  _ worked for. Which—might I add—just tried to kill my husband?”

Villanelle freezes, looking every bit as surprised by the spontaneous nickname as Eve feels, though in Eve’s case shame takes over and she rushes to cover it up.

“It doesn’t matter. Just tell me what happened between you an-and Rhian and how that uh...downgraded you from being a-a skilled assassin to a target, all of a sudden!” she blurts out, messily.

Time decides to screw with her by freezing while Villanelle scrutinizes her face. 

Great.

Eventually, Villanelle finds whatever it was she was looking for and continues, for once being gracious and overlooking Eve’s faux-pas. With a faraway stare, she tells her all about the Underground incident, monotone broken only by a crack in her voice when she finishes with “I had to kill her.”

Eve didn’t expect that. 

I mean, the killing part she did. 

But the change in Villanelle’s attitude was startling.

“Okay,” she begins, softly, “you did what you had to do.” Eve pauses. “But how did you do it?”

Villanelle’s stoic face twitches. “I tried to strangle her. But I couldn- couldn’t finish it,” the past assassin forces out. “I said I was sorry, you know?” she confesses, looking straight at Eve.

The feeling in her eyes scares Eve more than the emptiness ever did.

_ What could have provoked it? _

“I know,” Eve comforts.

“So I kicked her down the tracks and watched her get crushed by it,” Villanelle finishes, back to being stoic.

_ Talk about whiplash. _

Eve’s mind starts spinning. The twelve having their new asset killed is pretty inconvenient. They certainly cannot stay here more than one night. Eve doesn’t really have any money saved, her few savings locked within whatever’s left of her marriage, but they’ll make do. She’s sure Villanelle can get away with anything she sets her mind to. 

As long as she gets a grip on the despair she sees threatening to undo her, that is.

Sighing, Eve feels a desperate need to lighten the mood, to bring playful Villanelle back, so she points to the pink toy. “I didn’t even register there was a bear, I just wanted to get to the source of your voice.”

That does the trick.

“Oh.”

Eve reaches behind her and collects the little heart from underneath her pillow. She hadn’t taken it with her upon leaving since the batteries had almost died and by the time she fell asleep the voice was barely audible anymore. She had wanted to, though.

“Eve, that’s mean, do you know how many messages I recorded until I got it right?” she sounds truly disappointed, reaching the wrong conclusion upon noticing it didn’t work anymore.

Eve should point out to her how outrageous it is, to be so protective of an item she gifted her by breaking into her apartment amidst their game of cat and mouse. But since Eve is no longer in the business of doing what she should, she’s compelled to tell her the truth. Her mouth opens before she even realizes.

“I didn’t destroy it, the batteries just sucked...”

Villanelle giggles, the implication clear.

“Don’t be a dick.” She tells her again, echoing their first real conversation.

“You shouldn’t look a gifted horse in the mouth Eve, it’s not very nice.” Villanelle jokes.

Eve rolls her eyes, but smiles.

_ Damn. She could get used to that dick. _

“You were right, you know?” Eve tells her, turning to clear the bed of its many trinkets before making herself comfortable on the right side of it.

“About what?” Villanelle asks, genuine, for once.

“I did wish you were here.”

This time, the silence that settles between them is comfortable, the usual tension dialed down like it’s been doing on and off throughout the day. Then Villanelle adds, “So you  _ are _ inviting me into your bed, now?” She’s completely serious.

It’s probably just a joke, a taunt like many others that came before, but the tone of Villanelle’s voice makes Eve ache. 

She closes her eyes and clears her throat, before replying “Well, where else would you sleep? I don’t even own a couch…”

And there is that soft, searching look again.

“Thanks,” Villanelle uncharacteristically says, motioning to lie down beside her.

“Wait.”

“What now, Eve?” she asks, now the one sounding tired.

“Sorry, it’s just… I’m used to being on the left.”

Villanelle guffaws. Eve follows her lead, and soon they are laughing so hard they both have tears in their eyes.

Looking at the blonde beside her, Eve realizes she’s happy. Actually, honest to god, full-belly-laughter kind of happy. For the first time since this wild goose chase began, she’s free to express herself fully, and the relief of it is enough to leave her feeling lazy and loose, like the remains of a balloon that just popped, no longer whole but free of the tension that dominated it nonetheless. So what if the twelve are after them? Her…? Them. 

She doesn’t need to pretend anymore.

She turns to face the younger woman in the small bed, just like last time. Both of them bone tired, like last time. But those are the only similarities this moment shares with that day. They’ve both been through too much, evolved too much. A science teacher once told her that evolution shouldn’t be read as linear progress - like common sense implies - as if nature in all its glorious randomness was at all worried about fitting into the artificial structure of human narratives. There’s no beginning and no end, just… change. So they evolved, each one in their own way: she embraced her monster and Villanelle, her humanity. 

It doesn’t matter.

They are both still human and monster. 

“V…” She tries out, purposely this time.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you want to kill that new assassin…?”

“Rhian?”

“Yeah.”

Villanelle hesitates for a long time. Eve’s about to tell her she doesn’t need to answer when she says, “I went home.”

_ Home? _

“Home… to Russia?” she asks puzzled.

“Mmhm.” Another long pause. And then “It was fun, in the beginning. My brothers were there-”

“You have brothers?!” She can't help but interrupt, sitting up on the bed.

_ Oh my God! _

_ How could she not know that?! _

_ What else doesn’t she know abo- _

“Yes, Eve.” Villanelle snaps, rolling her eyes, “I am human, you know? I wasn’t born from a jackal like that kid from The Omen.”

_ Fuck.  _

“That’s not what I meant, Villanelle, I was just surprised I didn’t-”

And the anger evaporates from Villanelle’s demeanor instantly. She sits up as well to face Eve and gives her a knowing look, eyebrow raised.

“Ah. I get it, you’re the expert on female assassins, right? How could you not know that about me?”

Eve’s chest sinks. She’ll admit to being chagrined at the accurate reading.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Eve, even I didn’t know about one of them.” She mocks on.

“…I’m sorry. Okay. You’re right. There are many things I don’t know about you and you don’t have to tell me, I just…” Eve blurts, feeling her cheeks burn.

“It’s okay, I like that you’re obsessed with me,” she assures Eve, “I’m obsessed with you too.” She whispers it in her ear, as if it wasn’t common knowledge.

“So you have brothers…” Eve cuts her off, bringing them back to the main subject to distract herself - and Villanelle - from the goosebumps in her skin.

Villanelle smirks at her anyway, the flirty bastard. 

“Yes. Pyotr and Bor’ka,” she resumes her tale, falling back onto the bed. Eve promptly follows her lead and lies back down, embracing the oddly quirky domestic picture Villanelle is painting with her words. 

“That doesn’t sound very effective,” she pipes in, matter-of-factly, when the blonde tells her about her brother’s idea of anger management therapy. 

“That’s what I said!” V responds, appeased. “And then there is Bor’ka. He’s just a kid who’s in love with Elton John and still believes in miracles in the form of a piroshki contest.”

“What?” she asks, laughing.

Villanelle sighs. “It’s a long story.”

“It’s okay.” Eve looks at the clock, “it’s only 1:17, we have time.”

The look Villanelle gives her then is the most intense yet, and by the way it warms her whole body in anticipation, she’s scared of burning up when they actually-

_ If.  _

_ Not when, if, right? _

Villanelle rips her from that line of thought by telling her all about her obsessive little brother - maybe obsession runs in the family? - the creepy flat earth couple that lived with them and the  _ dung  _ throwing contest she’d won. It’s light hearted and carefree in a way she’d never thought she’d be with this murderer she obsesses over. 

And then she’s snapped back to reality by, “I killed my mother.”

_ Again with the whiplash. _

It’s Eve’s turn to study Villanelle’s face. She’s immobile, refusing to even blink, but is betrayed by the twitching of her chin. 

_ Oh. _

_ So this is what happened. _

“Okay.” Eve assures her, biting her lips to avoid asking too much too fast again.

Villanelle blinks, finally letting her tears fall. Eve finds herself once again touching her cheek. 

_ How? _

_ How is it that she gets to see this side of her? _

_ This powerful, clever, sexy killer is allowing herself to cry in front of  _ her _. _

Eve isn’t naïve, she knows Villanelle hasn’t gone soft. She’s still a murderer. Even if she’s traumatized, even if she dislikes her monster now, she still killed Rhian, she still left Konstantin to die at the train station, she still killed Dasha.

They both did.

_ How romantic. _

“She was ruining him… them, just like she did me,” Villanellehe rasps out. “I had to stop her.” 

She sniffs, drying her eyes, seemingly tired of being vulnerable, so Eve lowers her hand, leaving it limp in the middle of the bed.

“Was it just her?” Eve questions, knowingly. 

“No. I got rid of the trash,” she replies, face blank.

Eve huffs, humorously. “So you spared the both of them?”

“Yeah,” she replies, perking up, “I even gave him the money he needed for his concert.” 

“That’s good,” Eve approves, giving into Villanelle’s clear need of validation. “I hope he uses it.”

“Me too.” Villanelle sighs, looking at the ceiling while her hand slowly finds Eve’s above the mattress. If life was fair her hand would never be this soft, with how many lives it’s taken. But it is, long fingers perfectly intertwining with her own. She can’t help but draw circles into it with her thumb.

_ It’s so soft. _

And she’ll be damned, but picturing the blood it once shed only serves to thrill her more. 

_ She could kill me right now if she wanted to…  _

_ She just doesn’t. _

They smile and let the exhaustion speak for them for a while. An indefinite amount of time passes before Villanelle turns to her and breaks the silence. “I really am sorry Eve.”

“For killing them?” Eve asks, frowning.

“No,” she breathes “for ruining your life.”

Eve doesn’t answer immediately, trying to work out how she feels. 

Is her life ruined? 

Well, _ of course.  _

She lost everything she defined herself by. __

But…

“I wouldn’t go back, if I could,” Eve confesses, finally. “I’m not saying everything is forgiven,” she urges Villanelle to understand. “I still miss Bill...” Her voice is shaking now too. “And Niko is still traumatised over what you did to his work wife.”

“He didn’t love her, you know?” Villanelle tells her honestly. “He still only had eyes for you... but then again, who wouldn’t?” She emphasizes, widening her eyes. 

Eve snorts suddenly, “C’mon, V, you’ve got to admit Gemma was gorgeous.”

Villanelle just shrugs, eyebrows raised in question. But Eve doesn’t leave room for her to speak “I thought I made it clear I wanted your influence, though.” 

God, it’s so good to be able to say what she’s thinking. 

“Despite everything, it’s you I should thank for this freedom...”

Villanelle scoffs, “Eve, I killed your best friend.”

“Yeah, you did. And I stabbed you for it,” she deadpans, even if she feels a pang at the thought of him. 

That topic certainly isn’t completely sorted out. But for now, she doesn’t want to go there.

“And then I shot you for it,” Villanelle shoots back.

Eve rolls her eyes at that. “No, you didn’t. You shot me because I rejected your feelings. It had nothing to do with the stabbing and you know it,” she finishes, pointing her finger at Villanelle.

The ex-assassin gives her a bittersweet smile. “You were so oblivious just under a month ago, where is all this insight coming from?”

_ That is a good question.  _

_ Was all that awareness inside her all this time? _

If so, then denial sure is a powerful force.

“I’m happy with who I am now,” Eve tells her simply. “I won’t say it’s all settled between us, but right now I’m happy.”

“Eve?” Villanelle asks, blown eyes staring eagerly at Eve’s face, “Will you kiss me for real, this time?”

And Eve does burn. “Why don’t  _ you  _ kiss  _ me  _ this time?”

Villanelle inches forward, hand hovering above Eve’s messy curls, “I didn’t know I was allowed to.”

They are so close, Villanelle’s breath hits the side of her mouth, making Eve shiver as she tugs at the other woman’s right arm, letting the hand drop fully onto her messy hair. Villanelle doesn’t waste time in burying it in her curls to bend her head towards her but doesn’t lean in.

“Come on, I promise I won’t stab you again,” Eve jokes, going cross-eyed because of the proximity.

“Oh, I know that,” Villanelles quips back, staring at Eve’s lips, “but do you promise not to headbutt me afterwards?”

In the end it’s not clear who closes the final gap, both of them too impatient to wait any longer. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I hope this helped you deal with the bad news. And, you know, all the other shit that's been going on for the last... 12 months? Oh well... writing soft Villaneve has been my way of dealing and I have a bunch of half-baked ideas for the rest of killing eve week, so tell me if you're interested in the comments and I shall write them down.
> 
> Any and all constructive criticism is also appreciated.


End file.
